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“I thought you and Nate were OOC,” Nick said. “When did you get back?”

“This morning,” she said, taking one of the seats on the opposite side of the table so she was facing the door. “Nate caught some kind of twenty-four-hour virus on the way back and he’s sleeping it off at the house. I was tempted to ignore the summons to come here and stay home with him. Those long flights kick my butt every time. I haven’t been to bed yet.”

Elena came into the room with her laptop and a thick file, and Atticus’s brows rose when he saw Brock come in behind her. He hadn’t been invited to the meeting since he technically wasn’t an employee of Dynamis Security. But the SEAL team he commanded—Nick’s former team—often accompanied them on missions if they were on leave.

Nick and Brock were best friends, and they gave a quick knuckle bump before Brock took a seat at the far end of the conference table near Elena.

Atticus had been watching Brock dance around Elena for seven years. It had been almost painful at times—watching Brock find excuses to be near her, watching him gentle his naturally rough edges around her, watching him wait with the patience of a man who understood that some things couldn’t be rushed.

He’d seen Brock ask her to lunch three times a week every week for years, never deterred by her polite refusals, never pushing for more than she could give. He’d watched Brock’s face light up when Elena walked into a room, watched the careful way he kept his distance until she invited him closer, watched him fall deeper in love with a woman who didn’t believe she deserved to be loved.

Brock remembered that night as well as he did, and there’d been something in him that had raged when he’d seen the broken slip of a girl left in the street to die. It had been Brock who’d exacted her revenge in the most brutal of ways. He’d hunted her attackers down like dogs and given them no mercy. They hadn’t been hard to find. They’d been drunk and bragging about it in a little cantina.

Atticus had never been sure Elena had truly healed, and he often wondered if he’d made the right decision in almost forcing her to belong with them. They’d wanted to save her and protect her, especially after she’d showed such bravery in leading them to taking down Antonio ‘Toro’ Ramos and disbanding his cartel.

But she’d always kept her distance. There had always been that little speck of fear in her eyes, even after her body had healed and she’d hardened herself to all emotions. Brock had watched her and waited, slowly extending a hand, like one would do with a skittish animal, until she got used to him being there.

But there was something inside Elena he was afraid that would always be broken—despite the years of mandatory therapy Dynamis had provided—though Brock had gotten closer to her than anyone.

“I sent you all the transmissions through email,” Elena said, “but I brought you a hard copy as well.”

Atticus felt his anger return and had to work to tamp it down until he heard all the facts. He had no idea how a straightforward mission could’ve gone to hell so quickly.

“Brock,” Atticus said, arching a brow. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

Brock grinned unapologetically. “You never know when I might come in handy.” He tilted his head toward Elena, and he couldn’t have made it more clear that he was there for her and her alone.

Atticus could understand and respect that kind of loyalty.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, “let’s figure out why we lost an agent out there, and why nine more are missing.”

“Holy crap,” Nick said, sitting up in his chair. “Is this the Somalia mission? I thought that was a quick in and out?”

“Nothing is ever that simple when human nature is involved,” Elena said, her voice cool and even.

Atticus dimmed the lights and clicked the remote he’d left on the table. An image of a redheaded, green-eyed man appeared on the wall.

“Titus Dean,” Atticus said. “I’m going to have to explain to his wife of six months why her husband is never coming home again.”

He saw the grief in Elena’s eyes as she studied the photo. Putting faces to the blurry red images on the computer screen didn’t help her stay cool and dispassionate when things went south.

Atticus wanted her to see Titus up close and personal. Because he wanted her to remember next time she was on the boards, that there were real people at the other end. Maybe next time she’d take a little more caution before sending them into a trap.

“He was a twenty-six-year-old former Airborne Ranger. This was his first mission as team leader. And his last. The mission was simple. He and Alpha Team were assigned to evacuate a civilian offshore oil exploration research team for BrexCorp.”

Elena sat stoically in her chair, her back straight and her fingers laced in front of her. She knew the gravity of their position. A mistake of this magnitude could bring down everything he’d sacrificed for.

Nick whistled as he read the intel from the screen. “Somalia is never to be underestimated,” he said. “Right, Brock? We had a couple of close calls on more than one occasion.”

“It’s a viper’s nest,” Brock said. “They’re their own worst enemy. I’m guessing the locals didn’t take kindly to good old capitalism.”

“You’d be right,” Atticus said. “Rebels began charging the mostly unguarded compound once they saw the helicopters. Not sure what triggered the all-out assault on the complex, but I guess the choppers spooked them. Titus and his team shoved the last civies on a chopper and fled on foot to keep from becoming victims.”

Eden sighed. “And there’s mistake number one. Why would they run into the jungle?”

“Where else were they supposed to go?” Elena’s voice was sharp, and Atticus knew she’d taken the criticism as a personal attack.

“Because it’s like running from a shark and jumping into the ocean,” Eden said.